


Mood Ring

by HedgehogSquadGoals



Category: South Park
Genre: Comedy, Dialogue Heavy, Kyle Is Clueless, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedgehogSquadGoals/pseuds/HedgehogSquadGoals
Summary: Stan is wildly in love with his best friend. Unfortunately, the only person in town who doesn’t seem to notice is Kyle himself. The other students at South Park High decide to help (or hinder) in their own ways. Sequel to Best Cup in Town.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 30
Kudos: 87





	1. Anger, Agitation

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This is the long-awaited sequel to Best Cup in Town! Since that fic was written TEN YEARS (?!) ago, there will be some details that are non-canon. It’s not necessary to read Best Cup in Town in order to understand this story, though it might help a little. But again, that is a very VERY old fic. 
> 
> ANOTHER NOTE: If anyone is reading this and angry because I’m posting an entirely new story instead of the conclusion to Mandatory Service, please don’t fret! I’m in the process of finishing that one up, I promise!

Once, when he was a child, Kyle had purchased one of the mood rings that had been all the rage among his classmates. He'd been the last of his particular group of friends to get one, mainly because he didn't buy into the belief that a piece of costume jewelry could depict the intricacies of human emotion. He had known, even at that age, that feelings were not something that could be summed up by a blur of color within a metal facet.

But while Kenny's ring had been a nearly constant shade of purple, Stan's a usual beautiful emerald green, and Cartman's a violent sky blue, Kyle's ring seemed to be perpetually stuck at an ugly mix of black and orange. The little piece of cardstock that came with the ring informed him that these colors signaled ' _anger, agitation_ '.

A stubborn creature by nature, he'd bought another ring in the hopes that the first was defective. But the second had reacted exactly the same.

This, of course, had caused him to become even _angrier_ and _more_ agitated. The dark hues of his ring seemed to leak out of its setting, congeal at the edges and tarnish the already cheap metal.

After a few days, and a lot of taunting from Cartman, Kyle had thrown both his mood rings and their cardstock charts into the trash, bidding them a disgusted good riddance.

Even now, in his late teenage years, that ugly mix of color followed Kyle around, the metaphorical rain cloud hovering over his head.

Anger. Agitation.

He was, admittedly, agitated about something or another most of the time. He held no false beliefs about himself as far as he knew; he’d always been a frequently ill boy, a Jew who both took pride in his religion and often doubted it, a half-Jersey monster with ridiculously curly red hair and a lifetime of credit card debt. He looked in the mirror and saw a slight, pale face under that unruly mop of crimson hair. Cheeks too sunken in, lips that were too thin and a nose that was too long. He had never considered himself even slightly good looking, though he supposed a lot of that came from the childhood trauma of being voted the ugliest boy in class. Even if the list had been corrupted, a child’s mind is delicate, and the label had stuck there throughout his life, as unsightly and dark as the colors of his mood ring.

There wasn’t much about himself he liked, nothing he could say he was really proud of. Even his status as an A+ student wasn't anything to brag about, in his opinion. Not when most of the school assignments included questions like _"Which coked-up starlet dyed her hair from natural red to blonde?"_

With his self-esteem already in tatters as it was, he had absolutely no interest in romance. He'd had crushes before, sure, but hadn’t they always in heartache or disaster? Better to focus on other goals, attainable goals.

Sometimes, he reasoned, myopia could be a good thing.

So it was understandable, at least to people who knew him well, why a smart guy like Kyle couldn’t see the truth staring him right in the face; his best friend was madly in love with him.

* * *

“It’s kind of incredible, really,” Kenny said earnestly, brows raised above the messy fringe of his bangs, “literally everyone knows except him.”

“How is this possible?” Stan groaned, planting his forehead against the cool laminate of the coffee shop table.

“He’s the stupidest smart person I’ve ever met,” Craig said, and even his normally monotone voice sounded in awe.

“I don’t get why you just aren’t telling him!” Tweek brought over their drinks precariously perched on a tray, which was in turn precariously perched on his trembling fingers.

“BECAUSE, Tweek,” Stan started a little more roughly than he’d intended, resulting in Tweek nearly dropping the tray, “it’ll ruin our friendship. We’re best friends. Super Best Friends! If he finds out I’m into him? It’ll throw off our whole dynamic. It’ll be...weird. Weird and awkward.”

“So just like every other aspect of your life,” Craig helped Tweek distribute their orders, then took sip of his flat white, unimpressed as Stan flipped him off.

“What if he likes you back?” Tweek asked.

“Gotta get to him before someone else does,” Kenny added.

“Oh my god, don’t pull that tactic on him,” Craig rolled his eyes.

“Worked on you.”

“Well...” Tweek slid into the booth next to Craig, “what if he feels the same way you do, Stan?”

“Have you met Kyle? If he was into me, I’d know! He’s not capable of keeping his feelings to himself.”

“You’re not doing a great job of that either,” Craig pointed out, “you’re creepily staring at him every chance you get. The other day, he bent over to pick up his pencil, and I thought you were going to have an aneurysm.”

“If you don’t tell him, he’s gonna hear it from someone he’s not gonna want to hear it from. Like Cartman,” Tweek wrapped thin fingers around his mug and looked earnestly across the table at Stan, who sighed.

“Once again, have you guys met Kyle? He’s not gonna believe a word that fatass tells him.”

“Take him to a nice restaurant and pour your heart out!! Somewhere French. Bitches love French shit.”

“Kenny, this is Kyle we’re talking about!”

“Like I said, bitches love French shit.”

“If Kyle really loved French shit, he'd just date Christophe!" Tweek said, then immediately realized his mistake when Stan let out a pained groan and slammed his head against the table.

“If Kyle ends up with someone else, I’ll die. I’ll die!”

“Ah! Will you really die!?”

“Of course he will,” Craig answered, “look at him. On death’s doorstep already. If Kyle dated Christophe, _he’d_ be the one who ended up dying. That guy is not stable.”

“You think Kyle’s fucked anyone?” Kenny leaned forward after taking a sip of his water, “I mean, my money would be on the Frenchie.”

“Gah! No way! I would know if that happened! It’d be Nichole, for sure!”

“Nah, she would have told Token, who would have told me or Clyde. I’m saying David.”

“...Cartman,” Kenny said, eliciting snorts from Craig and Tweek and an aggravated yell from Stan.

“You guys are no fucking help!” he barked, snatching up his coat and nudging Kenny out of the booth so he could get by, “I’m leaving!”

“That butthurt?” Craig asked boredly.

“Homework,” Stan spat, heading toward the exit.

“Ah! Stan! Your coffee!” 

“You can have it!” was the answer, followed by the clanging of the closing door. 

* * *

No one really knew why the staff from South Park Elementary had ended up working at South Park High, but it was honestly one of the least weird things to happen in town, so there wasn’t a lot of time wasted questioning it.

What was _very_ weird, however, was Mr. Garrison’s tendency to blatantly hit on his male students now that they had developed into (mostly) handsome young men and were only a year or so away from adulthood.

With Craig’s help, and the encouragement of the rest of the student body now that he was no longer considered a social outcast, Tweek had started taking a few normal classes along with his peers; but Mr. Garrison’s was one he could do without.

“Tweek, A+, very nice!” the balding teacher walked down the aisles of seats, handing back their papers, “I’m especially loving seeing your stomach through that shirt, looking very svelte. Do you moisturize? Craig, B+, not bad, keep wearing those skinny jeans and we’ll see if we can’t raise your grade a little next time. Token, A, excellent, let’s see those arms a little more and we might add a plus, huh? Stan, C+, not great. How many times a week are you working out these days, I’m liking the results. Kyle, let’s see, Kyle...here we go. A+, fantastic job, and an equally fantastic ass. I’m sure you’re a big hit in the locker room, aren’t you? Kenny, D-, maybe you’d get a better grade if I could see any part of your fucking body. Clyde, C-, you’re a total dumbass and really should be failing, but you’ve got a nice face, so I’ll grade up. And Eric...D.”

“Ey!”

“Mr. Garrison!” Wendy’s arm shot into the air, “I can’t even put into words how inappropriate this is!”

“You’re not even giving us girls our essays back!” Bebe added.

“Oh yes, girls, of course,” Mr. Garrison tossed the rest of the papers haphazardly on Wendy’s desk, “here you go. You can pass those out to your friends, Wendy, since you love being up in everybody’s business all the time. Now children, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Winterfest Ball is coming up before Christmas break. The administration is looking for volunteers to help with organization and decoration, so if you’re interested, sign up in the Principal’s office.”

Cartman raised his hand.

“Are gays allowed at the Winterfest Ball, Mr. Garrison?” he asked in the most innocent of voices, glancing at Stan rather than the more obvious Tweek and Craig.

“Yes, Eric, Jesus Christ,” Mr. Garrison sighed, “all right, there’s the bell. Get out of here, and remember, your homework is always due the next day! Not in three days, not in a week, tomorrow, _Kenny_!” he emphasized Kenny’s name as the blonde gave a shrug and slung his backpack over his shoulder, following the other students as they filed out of the room.

Kyle rummaged through his locker and Stan sidled up beside him.

“So...Winterfest Ball. Gay, right?”

“Dude, _you’re_ gay, remember?” Kyle said, not looking up from his task, “besides, I dunno. I was thinking about volunteering. I don’t really care about going, but it’d be kinda cool to make it not lame for the people who wanna go.”

“Why don’t you wanna go?”

“Because it’s gay,” Kyle laughed, then added, more sincerely, “I dunno. It’s like the kind of thing you take a date to, right? Romance and stuff. A high school dance is pretty much just an excuse to invite someone then bang them afterwards. Speaking of, who do you think Kenny will end up fucking this time?”

“Bebe, I hope,” Kenny responded as he walked past them.

“You wouldn’t have to take someone as a date, it doesn’t have to be that kind of thing. I mean, you could just go with like...a friend...you know...or...uh...” Stan responded slowly, and he could feel the hot blush spreading through his cheeks as he watched his best friend rifle through his belongings.

Kyle was so...pretty. His hair had gotten longer and puffed out under his hat, tight red curls framing a pale face and great green eyes. Stan couldn’t help but notice Kyle’s eyelashes, thick and dark, and the small details of his face. From the long bridge of his nose, to the freckle near his left eye, to the faint white scars below his sharp cheekbones.

He was jolted out of his admiration as Kyle shouldered his locker shut and finished packing his bag.

“I think I’ll probably just stay home and work on college application followups or something. Besides, I’m sure something stupid and ridiculous will happen at the dance, like it does every year. Remember the time we had to help a bunch of prom ghosts cross over to the other side? God that was annoying.”

“But...I uh...well...” Stan fumbled a little, before steeling himself.

Now was the time. He had to do this.

Passing students must have seen the determination on Stan’s face, because a crowd was beginning to form in the hallway across from them. Wendy abruptly ceased chatting with Token and they both turned their heads in Kyle and Stan’s direction. Craig and Tweek were walking by when Craig stopped and grabbed Tweek’s arm, nodding toward the two friends by the lockers. Cartman watched shrewdly, a Twinkie halfway to his mouth, and Butters knocked his knuckles together in nervous anticipation.

“You wouldn’t...” Stan began, oblivious to the onlookers, captivated solely by the redhead in front of him, “you wouldn’t want to...um...I mean...would you...go with me…? To the...dance…?”

“I dunno,” Kyle shrugged, and that simple gesture brought the world crashing down around Stan, “if I decide to go at all, I’ll let you know. Hold on a sec, Jimmy owes me thirty bucks and I need to collect. Jimmy! Don’t you try and run from me!”

Stan stood, stock still, staring at the place Kyle had been just a moment before, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. He had asked Kyle to a school dance, and Kyle had barely even registered it.

“Oooh, tough break, Marsh!!” Cartman barked, his mouth full of spongy processed cake, “let this be a lesson to you. Jews don’t care about _feelings_ , they care about _money_. I’ve been trying to tell you for years, maybe now you finally understand.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Cartman!” Wendy snapped, shoving her way past him to Stan, her voice gentle, “Stan? Are you okay?”

She waved her hand in front of his face when he didn’t respond.

“Kyle broke him,” Token said, and Tweek gasped.

“Is he really broken?!”

“He was broken long before this, babe,” Craig answered.

“I asked him,” Stan said softly, still staring into the nothingness where Kyle used to be, “I literally asked him if he would go to the dance with me...and it was like he didn’t even hear it. That took every ounce of confidence I had. How…?”

“Stan, Kyle is your best friend. You know him. He can be...” Wendy put her hand to her chin to try and think of an appropriate descriptor, “single-minded?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you back and don’t wanna hurt your feelings?” Butters offered. He jumped when Wendy shot him an acid glare, and Stan wilted further.

“You need to be more obvious.” Craig said.

“I asked him to a fucking dance!! How much more obvious can I get?!”

“I dunno, man,” Token shook his head, “I’ve honestly never seen anything like this.”

“Stan, it’ll be okay,” Wendy offered, “you’ll figure something out...”

“Yeah...” Stan hung his head and started his trek down the hall, “or maybe I won’t.” 

* * *

Tweek and Craig had settled comfortably into their relationship; to them, it felt as if they had never even drifted apart in the first place. Craig calmed Tweek, became his center in the whirlpool chaos that was Tweek’s brain. And Tweek encouraged Craig, offering an ear to listen and a shoulder to lean on, things Craig didn’t even know that he needed.

Tweek had long since taken to going over to Craig’s house whenever he could, not only to see his boyfriend, but to see his boyfriend’s guinea pig, who they both agreed was the most magnificent pet in the world.

Swirls was currently trying to burrow up Tweek’s pants leg, sending Tweek into a giggling fit as he tried to do his homework, back resting against the side of Craig’s bed.

Craig couldn’t hold back his smile as he glanced over the top of his paper at the two of them.

“What’d you get for question five?”

“Composite volcano,” Tweek answered through laughs as the guinea pig’s wet nose pressed against his bare ankle.

“You’re good at this,” Craig said, “remind me again why you were in Special Ed for so long? You’re smarter than 90% of the people at our school. Not saying much, but still.”

Tweek offered up a bashful grin that slowly dissolved into a thoughtful expression. He stroked Swirls’ long black and caramel-colored fur gently.

“Craig...I was thinking. Nnh….uh...maybe we should help Stan. You know, with Kyle.”

“But I hate him.”

“Gah!! Weren’t you hooking with him before we got together?!” Tweek asked in disbelief, scooping up the guinea pig and holding her close to his chest.

“Yes.”

“So you must not hate him that much!”

“I do.”

“Okay,” Tweek huffed, rolling his eyes before trying a different tactic, “do you like Kyle?”

Craig gave it a moment, then shrugged.

“He’s the least awful out of those four.”

“Well, then you could think of it as helping Kyle!”

“He’s better off without Marsh.”

“You don’t really think that’s true, do you?!” Tweek set Swirls back down in her pen and scooted across the floor until he was sitting across from Craig, “what if they’re lobsters?!”

“Lobsters,” Craig repeated blankly.

“Ah! You know! Lobsters! They mate for life! Kyle could be Stan’s lobster and not even know it! Like how...you know...like how you’re my lobster…?”

Craig felt his heart melt for about the fiftieth time since he and Tweek had started dating; Tweek was so sincere and sweet and goddamn _cute_ that it was becoming nearly impossible for Craig to keep up the old ‘cool guy’ nonchalance around him.

And so, due to Tweek’s cuteness alone and absolutely nothing else (because he really did hate Stan, despite however many times they may have boned), he found himself giving a small, if hesitant, nod.

“Fine. Let’s help him. But only because he’s been nice to you.”

“I knew you had a heart!” Tweek gave his lopsided smile, and before Craig could object to that statement, Tweek threw his arms around Craig’s neck and kissed him.

“Don’t let it get out...” he murmured against Tweek’s lips, hands wandering down to the small of his boyfriend’s back.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Tweek whispered, nipping at Craig’s ear, and Craig grinned.

Maybe playing Cupid wouldn’t be so bad.


	2. Romance, Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there for Chapter 2! And thank you all for your kudos and kind comments, they always mean a lot, but they're especially uplifting during these strange times we find ourselves in!

Tweek and Craig caught Stan the next day at football practice. Hands linked, they approached the bleachers, where Stan sat dejectedly on the lowest bench, staring at the overcast sky, South Park Cows helmet in his lap.

“What even is love,” he asked forlornly as his friends approached. The couple glanced at one another, unsure if Stan was talking to them or to himself, “maybe I’m meant to be tortured like this. Maybe that’s just what life is, you know? Nothing but torture and darkness and anguish. Maybe it’s just like this ‘till it all...ends.”

“Have you been hanging out with the goth kids again…?” Tweek asked hesitantly, brows knit in concern.

“No...” Stan sighed, “I tried to, but they said that football players are the most poser conformist of all and that I’m not allowed within forty feet of them...they had actual restraining orders...”

“Jesus Christ,” Craig rolled his eyes, “stop being so melodramatic. We’re going to help you.”

“What?” he tore his wide eyes away from the heavy clouds, finally facing the two before him. Tweek nodded energetically and sat beside Stan. Craig lit a cigarette.

“Ah! We’re going to help! You know, help you tell Kyle how you feel!”

“Why would you guys do that…?”

“Well...you -nnh- kinda helped us, right?”

“Not really,” Craig responded after a drag, “besides, I’m only doing this because I can’t stand to be a spectator to this carnival of misery any longer.”

“Fuck off, Craig.”

“God, I wish I could.”

“Okay!” Tweek clapped his hands together, clearly becoming fed up with the animosity and eager to get down to business, “okay. Stan. Think! What’s the most romantic thing in the world?”

“Uh...I dunno. 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight'? You know...the song from The Lion King?”

“Oh my god,” Craig said softly.

“Gah! No!!” Tweek squawked and recoiled from Stan as if personally offended, “coffee!”

“Coffee?” Stan repeated in disbelief. He looked questioningly at Craig, who, unsurprisingly, offered no reply.

“Coffee!” Tweek nodded again, enthusiastic, “think about it; when people want to meet up they say ‘do you want to get coffee sometime’ or ‘can I buy you a coffee’! It’s literally _the most_ romantic beverage in the world!”

“I think you might be a little biased. But...that is a good point. You think inviting him to coffee will really work?”

“Ah! Yes, dude! But you can’t let coffee do all the heavy lifting, you’ve got to be honest and open with Kyle! Don’t be afraid to tell him how you feel!”

“What he means is, don’t wuss out.”

“Thanks, Craig,” Stan grumbled.

“Welcome.”

“You can leave the setup to us!” Tweek continued, “you invite Kyle for coffee and meet up around seven. I’ll close the shop early so it’s just the two of you, you won’t have anyone watching! Way less pressure!”

“No one watching except for us,” Craig corrected.

“Oh, right. Except for us. So just a little bit of pressure."

“And Bebe.”

“Ah! Yeah, and Bebe.”

“Why does Bebe have to be there?” Stan groaned.

“Because she works there!?” Tweek answered, bewildered. Craig snorted.

“Relax, Stan. Bebe’s seen you crash and burn a million times before with Wendy, you’re already well beyond embarrassing yourself in front of her.”

“Craig-” Stan started, agitated, when Tweek interrupted.

“I’ll make you and Kyle cappuccinos with little hearts drawn in the foam!”

“You can do that?”

“Ah! Yeah! I can draw hamsters too, but hearts seem more appropriate in this case...I think. Are hamsters romantic…?”

“No, babe. Hamsters are not romantic.”

“What if Kyle freaks out…?”

“He’s not going to freak out,” Craig sighed, dropping his cigarette butt in the snow and stubbing it out with the heel of his shoe, “Stan, Kyle has been your best friend all your lives. He loves you. Even if it turns out he doesn’t love you romantically, he’ll still love you as a friend. Or a brother. A brother you want to fuck.”

“Oh my god. You were making me feel better for a minute, then you just had to ruin it.”

“Whoops.”

“So...” Tweek peered at Stan, his hazel-green eyes wide in anticipation, “what do you think?”

Stan sat for a moment, staring at the football helmet clutched between his hands. A snowflake drifted down from above him and landed on it, white and perfect against the vibrant green plastic. He cast a fleeting look at Tweek and Craig, and thought of how happy they seemed together. Holding hands in the hallways, kissing before class. Leaning against one another during lunch. Sometimes, Craig would grab Tweek by the waist and lift him off the ground, and Tweek would shriek in happiness rather than his usual shrieks of terror.

He wanted that with Kyle. He wanted it so bad that it hurt.

Maybe it was worth the plunge.

“Let’s do it.” 

* * *

It hadn’t taken much convincing to get Mr. and Mrs. Tweak out of the coffee shop in order to set up for Stan’s date with Kyle. Tweek was able to pick up the slack, more often than not, and the Tweaks were more than happy to count on their only son as a consistent source of labor.

“I’m so glad I didn’t sell you into slavery, son,” Mr. Tweak had said, giving Tweek a fond pat on the head before they left the shop.

After Tweek’s usual reply of sheer panic and incoherent yelling, he, Craig and Bebe got to work ushering the other customers out and getting the storefront ready.

“I brought these from home!” Bebe lit some purple candles using Craig’s lighter, careful to keep her unruly hair away from the flame, “they’re jasmine and sandalwood. Those are the two most romantic scents known to mankind. It’s science! Kyle will be all over Stan before he even knows what hits him.”

“Won’t Kyle be a little weirded out by random candles in the coffee shop?!," Tweek gave the candles a critical glance, "We’ve never had candles in here before! Besides, they ruin the smell off the coffee!”

“If it’s like every other ‘romantic’ experience Kyle’s had with Stan, he won’t even notice,” Craig nodded toward the doorway, “speak of the devil.”

The door chimed open and Stan stepped through, already looking nervous. He spotted the candles immediately and shook his head.

“Oh, no. No no no no. We’re not doing candles.”

“Why not?” Bebe jerked her head up to glare at Stan defensively.

“Because, dude! Candles in a coffee shop? That’s weird!”

“That’s what I said!” Tweek yelped.

“Do you want Kyle to love you or not? We’re keeping the candles, Stanley!”

Stan found himself lacking the energy and the will to further argue with the force that was Bebe Stevens, so he sighed a resigned sigh and plopped down into one of the chairs set out for him. Tweek scurried over with a small ceramic vase, bristling with lavender flowers, and set it gingerly in the center of the circular table in front of him. Stan looked at the flowers miserably.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Not with that attitude,” Bebe huffed.

“She’s got a point. You go in with that defeatist attitude, we might as well kick you out and close up shop so I can get home and fuck Tweek.”

“Ah!”

“Guys...” Stan groaned, but stiffened as he saw a familiar flash of orange and green through the storefront window. Kyle shuffled in, sweeping a light dusting of snow off his shoulders, before catching sight of Stan and smiling. Stan’s heart soared.

“Hey, dude,” he pulled his chair back a little and sat across from Stan, propping an elbow up on the table, “have you ordered anything yet? I could go for a--”

“Cappuccinos!” Tweek shrieked, “he ordered cappuccinos before you came in! I’m...I’m making them now! For you!”

“Okaaay...” Kyle eyed the blonde, who was already fast at work, before turning back to Stan. He observed the rest of the store, an uneasy smile on his face, “kinda empty here, huh?”

“Hah...uh, yeah...must be the snow...” Stan avoided Kyle’s eyes, focusing intently on the sleeve of his own jacket.

“Did football practice go okay? Clyde said it was weird because you guys didn’t do drills.”

“Clyde should be happy about that, he finally got a break.”

Kyle laughed, and Stan smiled. He felt like he could faint. He missed the days when he could hang out with his best friend without feeling like he was going to pass out or throw up, but it was what it was.

Tweek skittered over, placing two large white mugs in front of them, both steaming with fragrant coffee, both with beautiful hearts drawn delicately into the foam on top. He stood, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, waiting for their appraisal. Stan vaguely wondered how Tweek managed to draw with frothed milk so daintily when he couldn’t even hold a spork steady.

Kyle took hold of his mug and dragged it forward a little, looking over the rim.

“Oh hey, cool,” he nodded at the cup, “Tweek drew a peach in the foam.”

Stan’s smile immediately dissolved.

Tweek looked like he was about to blow a gasket.

Bebe and Craig stared, dumbfounded, from behind the counter.

“...I...” Stan started, crestfallen, “don’t think they’re peaches--”

“THEY’RE HEARTS?!” Tweek screeched, grabbing fistfuls of his already wild hair, “WHY would you think they’re peaches?! They’re hearts!!”

“Oh...” Kyle looked at the foam again, then up at Tweek, “sorry, man...I didn’t mean to--”

“Oh my GOD! _How_ are you like this?!” Tweek howled before Craig came up behind him, hooked his arms underneath his boyfriend’s armpits, and dragged Tweek, still twitching and yelling, back behind the service counter.

“Moses,” Kyle watched for a moment, then looked at Stan, confounded, “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. ...is that what happened? Did I hurt his feelings? It’s hard to tell if it was that or some kind of fit.”

“Well...” Stan pushed the handle of his coffee mug to and fro, avoiding Kyle’s eyes, “you know how Tweek gets about coffee...”

“That’s true, I guess...” Kyle shrugged, ignoring Tweek’s _‘gah!’_ from across the room, “so...hey, you said you wanted to meet up here to talk, right? Something going on?”

“Uh...yeah, actually...um...” he looked up at Kyle, then, out of the corner of his eye, noticed the three faces staring at him. He shot a glance at Craig, Tweek, and Bebe, who all immediately turned and pretended to busy themselves with something or another. Satisfied that they weren’t ogling any longer (though he was 100% sure they were listening as hard as they could), he looked up, meeting the green of Kyle’s eyes.

“Kyle,” he began slowly, trying to speak slowly so as not to dissolve into a gibbering mess, “I uh...I’ve asked you to join me here for coffee, the world’s most romantic beverage, because...”

The entryway chime let out a violent jingle as the door burst open. A small figure darted toward them, a blur of black hair and blue jacket, and narrowly skidding to a halt before hitting the side of Stan and Kyle’s table.

“Ike?” Kyle asked, twisting around in his seat to look at his little brother. Ike doubled over, panting for a moment, before brushing snow out of his hair with one hand and holding up a crinkled envelope with the other.

“Kyle,” he said, breathless, “my phone’s dead – so I ran all the way here to tell you. You got this in the mail—and I opened it--”

“Ike! Why the hell did you open my mail!?”

“Not important!” Ike insisted, shoving the envelope under Kyle’s nose, “read it!! You were accepted to Yardale University! They want you there _next semester_ to participate in a new program!”

“Next semester?” Kyle snatched the envelope from his brother, fingers scrabbling to unfold the paper within. Stan watched, staggered, as Kyle’s eyes roved voraciously over the words, “that’s in spring!”

“I know!” Ike answered excitedly, “you could be going to one of the top universities in the world in less than _four months_! Ma and Pop are going to flip! Oh, hey Stan.”

“Ike,” Bebe said delicately, edging out from behind the service counter, “why don’t we talk about this later and let Kyle and Stan finish their discussion?”

“Pfft. Why? Hey, what’s with the candles?”

“Kyle--” Stan began, reluctantly.

“Stan!” Kyle looked up from the letter, his eyes as huge and hopeful as his grin, “this is—do you know what this means? This is amazing! I was accepted to Yardale University?! I applied a couple weeks ago, but I never thought—oh my god, dude!”

“...yeah...that’s...really...uh...”

“We _have_ to go tell Ma and Pop, they’ll be home soon!” Ike urged, tugging on the sleeve of Kyle’s jacket, “come on!”

“I—hold on, Ike,” Kyle swatted Ike’s hands away from him, “wait a minute. Stan had something he wanted to talk to me about....right, Stan? I don’t need to leave just yet..”

Stan stared at Kyle, his bright green eyes and ecstatic grin, glowing with sublime happiness that he knew Kyle found hard to come by.

“It’s...” he started, voice small and cracking.

“Tell him...” Tweek whispered, grasping the edge of the counter so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Don’t wuss out...” Craig muttered, eyes trained unblinkingly on the scene before him.

“You can do it...” Bebe whispered, hands clasped together in front of her chest.

“...it’s nothing. You should...you should go home and tell your parents. They’re gonna be so psyched, dude.”

A chorus of disappointed groans rang out from behind the service counter. Kyle’s grin faltered a little and his eyebrows slanted in slight worry.

“You sure…?”

“I’m sure, man. Go on, your parents are going to be so stoked.”

“If you’re sure, Stan...” Kyle said, easing out of his chair, seemingly trying to ignore his little brother still trying to pull him insistently to the doorway, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, definitely."

Stan, Bebe, Craig and Tweek watched the brothers leave, strolling away from the shop until they disappeared into the haze of light evening snowfall.

Stan watched the foam heart in his cappuccino dissolve, and wondered if it was possible to drown yourself in a cup of coffee. 


	3. Passion, Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the newest chapter! Just a quick note; Craig's little sister is in this chapter under the name Ruby. Back when I wrote Best Cup In Town (a million years ago?) she was still known as Ruby Tucker by fans. When Fractured But Whole came out, her official name was revealed to be Tricia...but since this is a sequel to Best Cup, I'm sticking with Ruby! I think it fits better anyway.

“He’s going to move a million miles away. He’s going to move a million miles away in the spring and I’ll never see him again!" Stan groaned, his head against the table, a position that was becoming more and more routine.

Craig leaned against the cream and sugar station, arms crossed, and Tweek sat where Kyle had been minutes before, downing Kyle's abandoned cappuccino.

“He’s going to the UK, Stan, not to the moon,” Bebe stooped to blow out the candles which were, at this point, well past superfluous.

“The moon is way closer than a million miles anyway,” Craig grunted, though nobody seemed to appreciate his space fact.

“It was already bad enough that I’m in love with the idiot and he doesn’t even see it,” Stan moaned, “now, I’m going to lose him for sure! I won’t even have my super best friend around anymore!”

“Weren’t you guys going to go to different colleges anyway…?” Tweek asked hesitantly.

Stan just groaned again.

In his wildest dreams, he would admit his feelings to Kyle, who would, of course reciprocate. They’d decide to go to the same college, study together, room together, graduate together...then get married and get an apartment and probably a puppy.

His wildest dreams didn’t include his one true love moving halfway across the world three months before the rest of their class even graduated.

“Maybe you should just give up."

“Craig!” Tweek and Bebe snapped simultaneously.

“He’s right...” Stan muttered, face smooshed sideways against the cold tabletop, “it’s all over...”

“No!” Tweek yipped, leaning forward, thin fingers clutching the oversized coffee mug, “now it’s more important than ever that you tell him how you feel!”

“Why?” asked both Stan and Craig.

“Ah! _Because_ ,” Tweek shot a glare at his boyfriend before looking back at Stan, “the stakes are even higher now! You can’t lose him without a fight!”

“I straight up asked him to a dance, then I invited him for coffee. His cappuccino had a goddamn heart in it. What the fuck do I do now?”

“I’ve said it a hundred times, and I’ll say it again,” Bebe said brusquely as she untied her apron, “if you want to admit how you feel to someone, you’ve got to stand outside their bedroom window and play Peter Gabriel.”

“That didn’t work when I was trying to win Wendy back, and it’s not gonna work with Kyle!”

“That’s because you played the wrong song, idiot!” she snapped.

“Gah! Don’t play Peter Gabriel, Stan!”

Craig nodded.

“Yeah Gabriel screwed you over once already, I wouldn’t go down that road again.”

“You should play something by Anita Baker!" Tweek said, then gasped, his eyes wide, as he slammed the empty coffee cup onto the table in excitement, "'Sweet Love'!"

The loud slap of ceramic on wood startled Stan, and he jolted up from the table.

“I don’t even know what the fuck that is, Tweek!"

“No one does,” Bebe shook her head. 

“I'd take Tweek's advice,” Craig said, “he knows music. The coffee hearts didn’t work, but maybe a love song will. I mean, Kyle would have to be a complete moron not to get what you’re trying to say if you show up to his house playing a love ballad. I know he has at least _half_ a brain.”

“Do you have a cassette with that track on it, Tweek?”

“Ah! Yeah!” Tweek nodded at Bebe before gnawing at his bottom lip, “it might be kinda hard to find in my room, but I know I have it...”

“I’ll just find it on Spotify or something, I don’t need a cassette.”

“Um, yes you do, Stan,” Bebe admonished, looking at him like he was particularly stupid, “you’ve got to play it on a boombox. Hold it up underneath Kyle’s window.”

“Why does it have to be a boombox?” he looked at her incredulously, “can’t I just hook my phone up to a bluetooth speaker or something?”

“Stan,” she scoffed, “even Cartman can hold up a phone and a speaker. It takes a real man to hold up a boombox.”

“Gah! She’s right! It’s the ultimate show of romance! Holding up the boombox signifies strength, standing outside his window signifies devotion, and the music will signify your love! You won’t even have to say anything! It’s perfect!”

“Yeah, it's usually better when Stan doesn’t say anything."

“God, Craig, can you just like, fuck off?” Stan shot the taller teen a look.

“Here's the plan," Craig looked at him levelly, "you fuck off first. Fuck off all the way back to Tweek's house, you and Tweek find the cassette at his place, and me and Bebe will lock things up here. That way you can go do it tonight.”

“...that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know.”

“Don’t choke this time!” Bebe yelled as Stan stood and pulled his jacket from the back of the chair.

“Ah! He won’t be able to choke! Anita Baker will do all the explaining for him. You ready, Stan?”

“Yeah, guess so...”

“Have fun in the disaster zone,” Craig said, smirking. 

Tweek gave him a quick kiss.

“Jerk.” 

* * *

Craig’s description of Tweek’s bedroom as a disaster zone was pretty apt. Stan hadn’t been in the room since they were children, but it was just as cluttered and disorganized as he remembered, with clothes strewn all over the place, coffee cups stacked into pyramids here and there, and action figures laying sadly on their sides in places you’d least expect them. A couple of succulents sat on the windowsill, and a few potted plants dotted the room, looking a little worse for wear (but hey, at least they were alive). A keyboard, violin and other assorted instruments nestled into the corners of the room betrayed Tweek’s fondness for music.

Stan didn’t ask about the underwear duct taped to the ceiling. He knew what that was all about.

He sat at Tweek’s desk, watching the blonde rummage through the mess like a squirrel searching for acorns. When they had arrived, he had almost sat on Tweek’s bed; a habit, maybe, because the bed was always where he sat at Kyle’s house, warm and comfortable and always smelling like him. Tweek’s bed was more foreign, and Stan knew that their relationship was nowhere near intimate enough for him to be able to sit on it flippantly. Besides, who knows what Tweek and Craig did on that thing?

Maybe Tweek would be right about what kind of music it took to romance someone. If anyone knew, it would be him. 

"Well, here’s the cassette...” Tweek said after a long while of sifting through his sock drawer. He studied the tape’s cracked case thoughtfully, “and I know I have an old boombox around here too...I’m pretty sure it even has batteries...”

“Hey Tweek…?”

Tweek turned his head to look at Stan, eyes as wide as always. He was strange, but undoubtedly attractive, with smooth skin and angular features that made him look, as cliché as it sounded, almost as if carved out of marble. If Stan wasn’t wildly in love with Kyle, he might have been a little jealous of Craig.

“Yeah?”

“...did you like Craig before you two got together?”

The corner of Tweek’s mouth lifted in a slight smile and he gazed back down at the cassette case, brushing loose lint off its cover.

“Yeah. Since we were kids.”

“Really…?”

He set the tape next to Stan and commenced the new task of searching for the elusive boombox. He opened his closet and a mountain of stuff tumbled from within onto the floor.

“Ah! Yeah?! I’ve always liked Craig! Even when he was being a dick to me...a lot of people were dicks to me. I kind of just thought that’s the way it was.”

Stan felt a pang of guilt; after all, he had ostracized Tweek just as much as their other classmates. He thought that, perhaps, he and the others were partially to blame for Tweek’s mental state. In the recent months, Tweek had adjusted well to being around his peers again; he twitched less, yelled less, and now only had a few panic attacks a week instead of a few a day. Stan wondered that, if he and the others had been more supportive earlier on, a lot of pain could have been avoided on Tweek’s part. He was a good person; kind, caring and surprisingly gentle. He definitely deserved better than that jerk Craig, but Stan knew that wasn’t really his business.

“Have you always liked Kyle?” Tweek asked, voice muffled, and Stan saw that he was burrowing into the mountain that had fallen out of his closet. It seemed to be mostly clothes, but Stan noted some art supplies, stuffed animals and music paraphernalia in the mess. 

“Yeah...I mean, we’ve been best friends all our lives, you know? I always loved him more than anything. But when we got older...I don’t know. It took a while, but I guess I realized I was _in_ love with him...I don’t even know if he likes guys...”

“Craig told me that Kyle is asexual. Like a sponge!”

“God. He’s not like a sponge, Tweek. ...he might be asexual. I don’t know that either. We don’t...we don’t talk about that...stuff.”

“Did he know when you were hooking up with Craig?”

Stan shifted uncomfortably; he felt weird talking about his past sexual history with Tweek’s boyfriend, though, judging by Tweek’s tone, he wasn’t particularly bothered by it.

“Yeah...I did tell him that. He just frowned at me and said that Craig was an asshole. Then we never talked about it again.”

Tweek retreated, lugging a big silver rectangle out of the pile before hefting it up onto the desk.

“Craig _is_ an asshole,” he said, but there was a fond smile on his face. He removed the cassette from its case and loaded it into the boombox’s deck, fast-forwarding until he was sure it was on the right track, “ah! There, all set! This has got to work. There’s no way Kyle can mistake a love song for a peach. ….or can he…?”

"At this point, I'm starting to think it's possible. Thanks, man. I’ll be sure to give it back after school tomorrow.”

Tweek nodded and gave Stan an encouraging smile. 

“It'll be okay! Just let Anita Baker do the talking!"

Stan smiled nervously. He hoped Anita knew what she was doing. 

* * *

By the time Stan got to Kyle’s house, the snow that had been falling at a light flurry had dwindled to just a few flakes here and there. He trudged through the fresh layer of powder on the front lawn until he was facing Kyle’s window. After a shaky sigh,he zipped his jacket higher against the chill, and pressed down the play button.

_With all my heart, I love you baby,_

_Stay with me and you will see my arms will hold you, baby,_

_Never leave, ‘cause I believe I’m in love_

As he held the boombox above his head, he saw movement in Kyle’s window, a soft shadow cast upon the sheer curtains. The shadow grew, larger and darker, until a solid figure stood framed against the panes, black against the yellow-white light within. Stan took a deep breath, planted his feet firmly, held the boombox higher, watching, waiting, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

_Sweet love_

_Hear me callin’ out your name_

_I feel no shame, I’m in love_

The thin curtains parted, the window was eased open from the inside, and set against the light streaming out from the bedroom was…

Ike.

The boy leaned out over the windowsill on crossed arms, staring down at the boombox-holding teenager on his front lawn.

“...Stan?”

“Uh...hey Ike,” Stan responded dumbly, voice barely registering over the music.

“...gonna tell me what you’re doing down there, buddy?”

“...that’s Kyle’s room, right? I mean, I’m sure it is. Did I get the wrong room…? That can’t be possible...”

“Yeah, this is his room. He borrowed one of my quantum physics books and I need it back. I was in here looking for it. So...what’s all...this?” he gestured vaguely down toward Stan.

“I...uh...where’s Kyle...?”

“We told our folks about the Yardale thing, and they took Kyle out to dinner to celebrate. I wanted to stay home ‘cuz me and Ruby are cramming for a test.”

Craig’s little sister appeared in the window next to Ike, looking as bored and apathetic as always, the Tucker family legacy.

“Oh hey. It’s Stan. What’s with the boombox?”

“That’s what I just asked him! He’s not answering. What’s with the boombox, Stan?”

“Oh my god. Kyle’s not even home!?”

“That’s what the man said,” Ruby answered.

“Son of a bitch!” Stan cried and planted the stereo firmly into the snow beside him, “what the hell!? I brought the boombox and everything!”

“Are you trying to seduce my brother?” Ike asked from the second story window. Stan gave him a gloomy glare, which was apparently all Ike needed to get his answer, “have you tried telling him you like him?”

“Oh, Craig’s told me all about this,” Ruby chimed, “apparently Kyle is _so_ clueless that he doesn’t even realize what’s going on whenever Stan’s spilling his heart out. We’ve got a bet going whether or not they’ll ever get together. Craig says no. I said yeah. I’m rooting for you, pal. Earn me that fifty bucks.”

“What the fuck!?”

“Stan, you’re going all about this the wrong way,” Ike sighed in apparent weariness, as if he was a professor having to explain a problem to a particularly thick student, “if you jumping right in to telling Kyle how you feel hasn't worked so far, it's not gonna work now. In his brain, this is so beyond the realm of possibility that it’s just not going to register.”

“Okay, if you’re so smart, how would you do it?”

“Well, I _wouldn’t_ do it, because I’m his brother and I’m not in love with him,” Ike replied snarkily, earning a snicker from Ruby that Stan could hear even over the music, “but if I were you, I’d go the ‘secret admirer’ route. Hide love poems in his locker. Send him flowers and stuff. Don’t tell him it’s you. It’ll appeal to his curious side, it’ll show him for sure that someone likes him, and after a few days of that, you come in with the wham line!”

“...what’s the wham line?”

“...’I love you’. Stan. Sweet Moses, man. Use your brain.”

“...you think that'll work?”

“Absolutely. Trust me, the trick is to worm your way in. In fact, I’m _so_ confident that I’m going to see if I can get in on Ruby’s bet. Ruby, can we call your brother and see how much money he’s willing to lose?”

“Let’s bleed that fuckboy dry,” Ruby answered, and the two disappeared from view.

Stan stared at the window, now empty aside from its curtains undulating in the soft breeze.

Anita Baker’s deep voice streamed into the air from the boombox at his feet.

_Sweet love, don’t you ever go away,_

_It’ll always be this way_


	4. Stressed, Burdened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow going, but I try to work on writing things when I get free time. In the meantime, your kudos and comments really fuel my fire, so thank you!

“I’m telling you, dude, I’ve never seen them so excited in my whole life,” Kyle unslung the backpack from his shoulders after he and Stan had reached their lockers, “my mom called everyone she knows to tell them, even though it was already like eight at night. It was so lame.”

“Yeah,” Stan recounted dolefully, “she called my mom too.”

When Stan had gotten home the previous night, Tweek’s oversized boombox in tow, Sharon had told him about the call, asked him how he felt. The way she had looked at him, eyes concerned and gentle, made him wonder if she knew that Stan stood to lose much more than a best friend. It was easy to forget, what with the rampant idiocy usually plaguing South Park adults, that his mom tended to catch onto things that others (especially his father) missed.

He had lied to her, said he was fine, he was happy for Kyle, and oh, the boombox was for some class project, nothing special...he didn’t think she believed him.

“Sorry about that, dude,” Kyle grimaced, clearly embarrassed, judging by the crimson tinge in his usually pale cheeks. Though he couldn’t see them, Stan knew that Kyle’s ears were also red underneath the flaps of his hat and wild curls of hair.

Fucking adorable.

“It’s okay, it’s, you know, it’s a big deal,” he smiled, actively trying to make sure it was a _normal person_ smile and not a _lovesick imbecile_ smile, but he didn’t know how well he was pulling it off.

“I know, it’s just my folks can get...I mean, you know how they are,” he sighed, swinging open the door to his locker.

Then he paused, and Stan knew what he had seen.

The night before, heeding Ike’s advice (even though it was a little ridiculous that he was taking romance tips from Kyle’s little brother), Stan had written Kyle a love poem. He was careful to disguise his handwriting, which he was sure his best friend could have identified, then taped the poem to one of the dried yellow roses his mother displayed in a vase near the kitchen. He knew Kyle’s locker combination, of course, because Super Best Friends knew everything about one another, and therefore had no problem arriving to school early to slip the gift into Kyle’s locker.

Kyle pulled the fragile rose from his locker and stared at it with a mix of curiosity and astonishment, eyes scanning over the poem.

_My heart and head are filled with you_

_My love, like a light_

_Your whole body a beacon_

_Leading me through the night_

Stan knew he wasn’t the greatest writer, but he had been pretty proud of what he’d come up with. It was straight from the heart. He might have cried a little while writing it, no big deal.

“What’s that?” he asked, trying to feign ignorance. He also wasn’t the greatest actor, but he didn’t think that would be a very big problem since Kyle had noticed approximately zero percent of his attempts to confess his undying love thus far.

“I...uh...I dunno…” Kyle turned the rose and poem over in his hands, then back again, as if expecting them both to disappear suddenly. Stan leaned over, making a show of reading the poem silently.

“Looks like someone likes you.”

“Dude, come on,” Kyle playfully jabbed him with an elbow, but on his face was a goofy smile that was growing wider by the second. Stan nearly melted. He was pretty sure there were cartoon hearts floating above his head.

“Ooh, Kyle, what’s that?” Nichole’s curious face appeared over Kyle’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what he held in his hands. Kyle blushed furiously and attempted to turn away, but it was too late. She saw the rose and most of the words on the paper, and gasped.

“Oh my god! Kyle! You have a secret admirer! That’s so sweet!” she caught Stan’s eye and gave him a wink.

He struggled to hold back a groan. Was there really no one in this school that didn’t know?

“It’s probably just a prank,” Kyle said matter-of-factly, but nonetheless, he took care in pressing the note and the rose in between the pages of his Chemistry textbook before inserting it into his backpack.

“With those looks and that ass?” Bebe asked as she walked by, “I don’t think so.”

“Thanks, Bebe,” Kyle rolled his eyes as she and Nichole passed on by, giggling with one another, “this is weird...who do you think left this? How’d they get it in my locker?”

“Must be someone who knows you well. You’re bound to find out sooner or later, right?”

“Unless it really just is a joke,” Kyle shut the locker door, then turned to face Stan, “oh hey, you know what’s weird? Last night when me and my folks go home from dinner, there were footprints in the snow at the front of my house. Leading up to my window. You don’t think I have a stalker, do you?”

“Have you been hanging out with Tweek?” Stan laughed, trying his best not to sound guilty as hell, “that’s a little paranoid. I bet it’s just that there’s a normal, non-creepy person who likes you. That’s all!”

“I guess so...if I have a stalker, I’m gonna be so pissed off. I have zero time for that shit.”

But the rose and poem seemed to have done the job; there was a light in Kyle’s eyes, an eager spark, that made Stan’s heart soar.

Ike’s idea could actually work.

* * *

The next few days went exactly as planned. Stan would come up with a short poem or declaration of love, sure to disguise his handwriting, and hide it somewhere he knew Kyle would find it. He’d usually include a little gift; a flower or candy or a sticker (“Everyone loves stickers, Stan,” Wendy had insisted. She was smarter than him and he knew it, so he chose to take her advice). Kyle would find the note, the gift, and the expression on his face would be simultaneously pleased and baffled in a way that was both amusing and heartbreaking. It had actually become something of a relaxing ritual for Stan—weirdly enough, focusing all his energy on wooing Kyle distracted him from pining miserably for the him, and that was a welcome relief.

It was a Tuesday, and cold and overcast as it was, Stan knew it was the day to tell Kyle who the letters were really from. Kyle had started to look forward to the gifts from his secret admirer, but, Kyle being Kyle, had also been actively trying to figure out who it was. He was one of the smartest people Stan knew (usually, and obviously not when it came to matters of the heart), so he assumed it would only be a matter of time before his friend figured it out on his own. Stan wanted to tell him the truth before that happened.

The day prior, he’d arranged for a bouquet at the local florist. Nothing too fancy, because his weekly allowance didn’t really add up to much, but it was nice enough. He’d chosen an assortment of red and orange; vibrant, beautiful colors that he’d always associated with his best friend. Bright, fiery, passionate, just like Kyle himself.

He had agreed to drive with Kyle to school all that week, but it wasn’t much of a hassle to get Kenny to agree to place the bouquet in Kyle’s locker. Kenny was a little bit of a walking disaster, but Stan trusted him. His pastimes may have been huffing paint and setting shit on fire, but Kenny was a kind and honest person, a good friend, and had been rooting for Stan from the beginning.

Stan had written one last poem. Signed his name on it and everything, and made sure Kenny inserted it into the locker with the bundle of flowers. Kenny had texted him a thumbs-up emoji (and an eggplant emoji too, which Stan ignored), so he knew everything was set.

There was no going back.

The school day was harder to get through than usual; a ball of anxiety had wound itself tight in Stan’s chest, the anticipation making him queasy. He’d long since grown out of vomiting on whoever he was interested in, but the nausea didn’t go away so easily. Then again, maybe vomiting on Kyle would be the clearest way to let him know he loved him. Finally, the final bell rang, and the students shuffled from their desks. Kenny caught Stan’s eye, and the blonde gave him a wink.

They walked to their lockers, with Kyle ranting about some injustice or another, but Stan was too nervous to hear it. He kept his eyes forward, nodding every now and then, until they reached their destination.

Kyle opened the locker, and his mouth opened in a soundless gasp when he saw what was within. He pulled the bouquet out, eyes wide, and plucked the small card from the its center. Stan watched as he unfolded it, his heart beating a million miles a minute. Any moment now, Kyle would read his love poem, written in his usual handwriting, with his name attached...and finally, he would know.

For better or for worse.

Kyle scanned the card, and every second that it took those shrewd green eyes to move across the paper felt like an eternity.

Suddenly, the excitement on Kyle’s face dissolved, replaced with something that looked like...panic? He looked up, pale, locking startled eyes with Stan. Stan felt like his stomach had dropped a million miles down into an icy chasm. Kyle looked almost...afraid. Fuck! Did he make the wrong choice? He never should have confessed!

“Stan…” Kyle said slowly, eyes darting from him, down to the paper, and back again.

Stan moved toward him, reaching a hand toward his shoulder, hovering, too hesitant to actually touch him.

“Kyle...I...I can explain, I...”

“Stan! I was—I was right! Someone is--I’ve got a fucking stalker!”

“What…?” Stan asked, totally lost. Kyle held the note up in front of him.

“Look, dude!” Stan’s eyes scanned the page...the note he had written, his thoughtful poem, his signed declaration of love, was gone. In its place was a typed note, completely different and, as Kyle had implied, a lot more sinister.

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Pay attention to me_

_Or I’m murdering you_

_Love, your Secret Admirer._

_P.S. I know where you live._

“What the fuck!?” Stan exclaimed, confused. He turned the note over in his hands as if the back could give him some sort of clue as to what the hell was going on.

“I knew it!” Kyle scowled at the bouquet of flowers, holding them as far away from his body as his arm would allow, eyeing the bunch as if he expected them to burst into flame at any second, “the footprints in the snow at my house, all these weird letters and presents, someone is stalking me!”

“I...I mean, maybe this note was just an...accident…?” Stan offered helplessly.

“Is it an accident when you say you’re going to murder someone? Son of a bitch!” he threw the flowers down onto the floor before slamming his locker shut and backing away, “there’s no way I’m taking those home, they’re probably laced with anthrax or something.”

“Kyle, I’m sure it’s nothing…?”

“Yeah, you really sound sure, Stan,” Kyle grumbled, avoiding his eyes. The disappointment, the embarrassment, on his face was plain to see, “listen, I’ve got to go to a dance committee meeting, then basketball practice. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Kyle didn’t give Stan a chance to say anything before turning and storming down the hallway, a little black cloud dressed in orange and green. Stan stared weakly after him, then at the smashed flowers on the ground, until a familiar pair of battered brown boots strode into view. He looked up at Kenny, glaring.

“Kenny! What the fuck?! What was with that note? Why would you do that?”

Kenny looked up from the flowers to Stan, clearly confused.

“Huh?”

“The note, asshole! Why’d you replace the note with a fucking death threat!? Now Kyle thinks he’s got a stalker!”

“I didn’t replace it with anything!” Kenny held up his hands in protest, “I put exactly what you gave me in there!”

“Well my note wasn’t fucking in there! Instead there was a poem about how Kyle’s ‘secret admirer’ was going to kill him!”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

Stan groaned in frustration. He could tell by the shocked look on Kenny’s face that he was telling the truth; besides, Kenny was his second best friend, and he knew he’d never willingly screw him over like that. But he was furious. He wanted someone to be mad at, and Kenny was there, an easy target. Was it fair? No, but it was life.

“God! It was going so perfectly! And then, this?! Jesus Fucking Christ!”

“Stan-”

“Listen, I--...god. Listen. I just want to be alone right now. Goddammit...”

He trudged away, depressed and dejected, leaving the broken flowers behind, and Kenny standing dumbstruck beside them. 

* * *

The next day didn’t go any better. Stan was there when he saw that Kyle had received another note, definitely NOT written by him, more weird and threatening than the last.

_Kyle, my lady of the night_

_Show me your fucking body_

_Or I’ll see what it looks like_

_On the inside_

Kyle had scowled, sworn, and his mood the rest of the day was noticeably surly. Any fear he had about the situation seemed to have dissipated into the simmering rage that Kyle was well known for. When he was angry, he was like a tornado, and Tornado Kyle had a tendency to tear down its surrounding structures.

Kenny still insisted he had nothing to do with it, and yeah, Stan believed him, but...it was too soon. The planning, the hope, the excitement, all the emotions that had come with playing Kyle’s secret admirer, they had all died the minute Kyle read that note. It was hard to come to terms with, and, admittedly, Stan was being a bit of a bitch to Kenny about the whole thing.

Unfortunately, the threats didn’t stop at notes stuffed into lockers.

It was early Friday evening and Stan was at Kyle’s house, playing co-op video games with him. They sat on the floor next to one another, egging each other on (though they were both on the same team; smack-talk was just part of the routine). Ike sat on the couch above them, reading a book and occasionally glancing up to watch the screen. It was after a well-won match that the doorbell rang.

“Ike, get the door,” Kyle commanded.

“You’re closer,” Ike responded flatly, turning the page. Kyle let out a frustrated groan and sprang up. Stan happened to look over just in time to see Kyle’s perfect ass in his face but that, unfortunately, didn’t last long, as Kyle headed over to open the door.

There, on the doorstep, was a man dressed in a tidy red and white pinstripe suit, a white top hat settled on top of slicked-back hair. To the collective surprise of Kyle, Stan and Ike, the guy immediately launched into an upbeat, jaunty song:

“Ooooh, this is a singing telegram,

I hope it finds you well!

I’m going to cut up your body

And send you straight to hell!”

He finished off his short song with a small shuffling tapdance, then held his arms wide, pausing as if waiting for applause. All three boys inside the house stared. Predictably, Kyle was the first one to break the stunned silence.

“What the _fuck_!?” he yelled, loud enough to make Stan, Ike, and the man in pinstripes wince, “what the fuck was that?!”

“A uh...a singing telegram, sir?” the man answered, rubbing one of his ears, clearly in pain, “someone paid for me to come here and sing it to you.”

“Who!? Who was it!?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that is strictly confidential.”

“How can you keep it confidential when the song was about me being murdered?!”

“At Singing Telegram Co., we have very high standards--”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Kyle screamed and slammed the door in the poor guy’s face. He turned on heel, his eyes dark and face furious, before stomping toward the kitchen and shouting, much louder than he needed to, “I’m going to get some fucking snacks!”

The entire time, Stan couldn’t do much more than stare in confusion. Ike, after a moment, leaned down to Stan and whispered.

“This wasn’t really what I meant when I said you should do the secret admirer thing. Kyle doesn’t like being threatened. Most people don’t.”

“It’s not me!” Stan hissed back, “I mean, it was me at first, then someone took it over and started all this death threat bullshit!”

“Well, you might wanna do something about it. Kyle's freaking out,” Ike replied, righting himself, looking back down at his book, “he said something about ‘taking drastic measures’.”

“What does that mean?” Stan asked, bewildered, “Ike! What the fuck does that mean?”

But Kyle was back in the room, an unopened bag of chips close to popping in his white-clenched fist.

Stan didn't think he'd ever felt this stressed in his entire life. 

* * *

A bright, full winter moon crested over South Park’s residential neighborhood, casting strange nighttime shadows through the trees. A dark figure perched on a rooftop, cloaked in deep purple, surveying the house across the street.

A full moon usually brought the crazies out. That’s what Mysterion was counting on.

He’d resolved to find out who had sabotaged Stan’s secret admirer messages the moment that the first threatening note had been found; partially to clear his name, but mostly because Stan’s lovesick ass was getting more and more pathetic each day, and he could barely stand to see it. If he had to do surveillance on Kyle’s house at 2:00 AM amidst the freezing nighttime temperatures, so be it. And honestly, he didn’t have much better to do anyway.

Movement caught his eye. A dark mass scuttered past the fence line and into Kyle’s yard, carefully skirting the bushes. He saw the sweep of a cape and the glint of silver claws.

Just as he suspected. He began his descent from the rooftop.

“Coon,” he rasped, voice deep, causing the masked villain before him to jump away from Kyle’s mailbox, dropping whatever he had been about to place into it.

“The fuck! Kinney! What the fuck are you doing out here?”

Mysterion snatched up the dropped envelope before the Coon could make a move, tearing into it to read the note inside. It detailed how the author wanted to see Kyle’s various organs. Sick stuff.

“So I was right,” he crumpled the note and threw it at the Coon’s face, where it bounced off his fuzzy snout and onto the ground, “you’re the one who’s been stalking Kyle.”

“Okay, I’m not stalking him, I’m _pretending_ to stalk him.”

“There’s no difference.”

“Uh, yes there is! Listen, I don’t have time to explain the intricacies of the English language to someone who’s so poor they think an elevator is a mobile home.”

“Why the hell are you doing this? Why’d you sabotage Stan’s attempts to bang Kyle?”

“Because,” Coon sneered, “Jew Boy and Hippie Bitch already spend like all their time together anyway. If they hook up, that’s it! I’ll be stuck hanging out with you and _Butters_ forever, you think that’s something I want?”

“Why does that matter? You hate Kyle and Stan in the first place!”

The Coon stared blankly at Mysterion before opening his mouth, trying to pull some kind of explanation from his ass, but only succeeded in looking like a gasping fish before sputtering:

“Well, I...you...god, shut up, Kinney! If you tell anyone about this--” he brought up one clawed hand, metal nails glinting in the streetlight, “I’ll rip your nuts right off. Don’t think I won’t!”

Mysterion hooked his fist into the Coon’s shirt, pulling him close and snarling, “I’d like to see you try, fat boy! Listen to me. This. Ends. Now. Do you understand that, Cartman?”

“I don’t know who is this Cartman of which you speak,” the Coon responded, voice gravelly, though his eyes roamed nervously as he attempted to shimmy out of Mysterion's iron grasp.

Suddenly, a rectangle of light appeared before them, stretching across the snow of the front lawn. They looked up at the same time. Kyle’s bedroom light was on, and a figure was approaching the window. They both cursed, and Mysterion pushed the Coon hard to the ground before taking off in the opposite direction. The Coon wriggled helplessly on his back like a turtle for a moment or two, managing to right himself and jolt toward the fence and out of sight, just as Kyle’s tired face peeked through the window.

* * *

It was morning the next day, a split second before being struck by a speeding semi-truck, when Kenny realized he had left Cartman’s stalker note crumpled on the ground beside Kyle’s mailbox.


End file.
